


Bad Hair Day

by LilacCrocuta



Series: Medieval Septiplier [17]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:08:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23438215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacCrocuta/pseuds/LilacCrocuta
Summary: In which Sir Seán can't find his hair tie.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Sean McLoughlin
Series: Medieval Septiplier [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681588
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	Bad Hair Day

Seán absolutely _loved_ Mark’s hair. It was thick, it was soft, it was fluffy, and it just looked perfect on the head of such a magnificent king. Heck, even if Mark wasn’t a king, Seán would still love his hair.

That wasn’t to say that Seán didn’t take pride in his own hair. No, he loved his own hair just as fondly, despite it being less attractive than his lover’s. He merely kept it tied back in a neat bun as opposed to showing it off.

Unfortunately, he was so used to keeping his hair tied back that he didn’t realize how long it’d gotten...until one morning, when he awoke beside the love of his life and the first thing he felt was a set of gentle fingers running over his scalp, through his soft, free brunet locks.

_Wait._

Seán’s eyes popped open, glancing up to meet Mark’s brown orbs as the king chuckled softly in obvious amusement and sent a dark blush straight to his cheeks.

“Good morning, my clover.” The other man purred, practically petting the Irishman’s untied hair, as a thoughtful expression crossed his face. “Hmm...I do think it’s time that someone gave you a trim—“

The instant that the word _trim_ was uttered, Seán’s heart plummeted. Instinctively, he wrenched away from Mark’s hand, glancing around the bed for his hair tie.

“No.” He muttered. “My hair is perfectly fine as it is!”

Mark just smirked. “If you insist.” He chuckled, getting a light scowl from the brunet.

To Seán’s dismay, the hair tie he adored so much was nowhere to be found, and with a small huff, he resorted to combing his hair back with his fingers while Mark slipped out of bed to get ready for the day.

That turned out to be the biggest mistake he’d made that day, and throughout his entire morning shift, the Irish knight was constantly blowing his suddenly pesky hair out of his eyes to see better. When lunchtime came around, he had to try his damndest not to eat his brown locks as well as his soup, but despite his efforts, got some broth in them anyway, which did nothing to help his mood for the day.

But even after all of that, he tried his best to put a positive spin on the situation. Lots of men had long hair, right? He just had to get used to it, and he’d be able to tame it better.

However, it was that evening that he finally realized...with long locks often came many, _many_ knots. And the fact that he’d neglected to comb them out as soon as the broth from that afternoon greeted his beloved locks didn’t help much either.

So there Seán sat at the foot of his and Mark’s bed, eyes shut tight and teeth clenched as he tried desperately to battle the astonishing number of tangles and clumps in his hair with his favorite comb. Only now was he feeling a horrible sense of deep regret for not searching harder for his hairtie that morning, and as he cried out softly in pain from tugging at a stubborn knot, internally kicked himself for being so stupid.

_For once, I’m glad Mark is extremely busy—_ As soon as that blissful thought came to his head, the bedroom door swung open, and Seán felt his stomach drop.

“Ah, there you are, my clov—“ Midway through his sentence, Mark trailed off, eyes filling with concern as he took in Seán’s state, and the Irishman ducked his head in shame, blushing madly from the sheer embarrassment of having even one pair of eyes on him right then. “My love, are you quite alright?”

The brunet flinched at the sound of Mark’s footsteps approaching the bed, and shut his eyes, wanting desperately for a hole to open up beneath him and swallow him up just to be rid of this shameful feeling of knowing that _yes, Mark had been right, and by trying to prove him wrong, Seán had made an utter jackass of himself throughout that day._

He didn’t realize he was crying until he felt the King’s gentle hand tilting his chin up, and felt his thumb wiping away a tear that had begun rolling down his cheek.

“Seán, dearest, is this about your hair…?” The Irishman let out a pitiful sniffle, hesitantly opening his eyes to meet Mark’s sympathetic gaze, and slowly nodded as he forced back another wave of tears. He felt like a helpless child in the naughty corner.

The king shook his head a small bit, and Seán could see a hint of a smile making his lips twitch upwards.

“I did try and warn you, you know.” The Irish knight glared at him, shame transforming into hot anger as he wrenched his head away.

“Shut up, Mark.” He practically growled out, guilt punching him straight in the gut as soon as the words were out. Thankfully, the king seemed only mildly fazed by the sharp tone, and sighed quietly, before reaching for the comb Seán held.

The brunet gave him an apologetic look and merely handed it to him, staring down at his boots and inwardly bracing himself as he felt Mark sit beside him.

_“Be gentle, please.”_ He mumbled out, hearing the King’s breathy chuckle in response.

“Aren’t I always, my clover?”

True to his word, Mark was incredibly delicate with combing through the tough tangles and knots that littered the Irishman’s hair, and Seán was very much impressed when he felt some of them breaking with barely any strain on his head.

Within roughly ten minutes, the last clump had been defeated, and Seán closed his eyes with a heavy exhale of relief as his hair was pulled back again and tied neatly—

Abruptly, his eyes shot open, and he whipped around to glare at King Mark’s sheepish face grinning at him.

_“I’m gonna fuckin’ gut ye.”_

“Aren’t you glad I returned your hairtie?”

_**“MARK EDWARD FISCHBACH—!”** _

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written in memory of the Manbun.


End file.
